the aroma of sofrito and adobo hung heavy in the air as {{user}} stepped into angel’s family's restaurant. the familiar sounds of sizzling plantains and lively spanish chatter washed over him, a stark contrast to the quiet of his own apartment. his body felt tense, a heavy weight pulling at his shoulders as a constant reminder of the complicated knot he and angel had tied.

angel, leaning against the counter with his muscular arms crossed over a chest adorned with faded tattoos straightened up when he saw him. his usual cocky smirk softened into something that looked a lot like concern.

“papi,” he greeted, his accent thick and comforting, a sound {{user}} had once found intoxicating. “you okay? you look tired.”

“i’m fine, angel,” {{user}} replied, the lie feeling heavy on his tongue. the truth was, he was exhausted, burnt out, and increasingly anxious about the future. trying to navigate things with angel, his older, sometimes volatile ex, felt like walking through a minefield.

he gestured to a small table in the corner. “sit. let me get you something. some jugo de parcha? it always made my abuela feel better.”